As the Sun is to the Moon, so they are
by stagepageandscreen
Summary: When Loki was a baby, still too small to talk, or even sit up, I would spend many a twilight hour sitting and watching him, worrying for him. I somehow knew, even then, that he would be different, and that those differences would be the cause of much strife and heartache over the years. I could never have dreamed exactly how much. WARNING: SPOLIERS FOR 'THOR: THE DARK WORLD' INSIDE


**A/N Just a little emotional piece that has been floating around my memory stick for a while. Watching Thor: The Dark Word again re-inspired me and this was created. I know Frigga's memory's (the italics) are a little odd as some of them she was not present for, but I like to think she brushes the boundaries of time as she is…you know…dying. *weeps***

**Enjoy!**

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**As the Sun is to the Moon, so they are**

When Loki was a baby, still too small to talk, or even sit up, I would spend many a twilight hour sitting and watching him, worrying for him. Compared to how Thor had acted as an infant, Loki appeared to be so small, so fragile, so helpless as he slept, unencumbered by any of fears or doubts that I myself harboured. And, yes, there were intervals when I wondered if we had made the right decision to raise this Jotun child as our own. I somehow knew, even then, that he would be different from the other Aesir, maybe not in appearance, but in whom he was, and that those differences would be the cause of much strife and heartache over the years. I could never have dreamed exactly how much.

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_I saw a great city on fire, saw people running in terror. I heard the screams of innocents as they fell by the hand of strange creatures that I had never seen in all my years of travelling throughout the Nine Realms. And above it all stood a tyrant, a merciless creature who seemed to revel in the chaos, so far away from the noble young man I gave the throne to. Oh, my son…_

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Over time, my fears faded and my doubt retreated as I watched Loki grow into a somewhat shy, but incredibly talented child. His enthusiasm for learning brought me great joy, and many of our deepest discussions took place in the vast, deep recesses of the palace library. He was mischievous, but no more so than Thor, who despite being the eldest was no steadying influence, not that I would have expected such a role from him, a young impetuous rogue much like his father at heart.

For many years of their youth, through to their adolescence, the halls rang with teasing laughter and mock battle cries, sometimes morphing into tears and genuine battle roars. Oh, yes, even as children the two of them fought, almost as much as they played in fact, their personalities and wishes clashing often, the skirmishes urged on by the inflated egos of youth.

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"_I'm not your brother…I never was." Two brothers locked in vicious combat, fighting to wound, trying to hurt. How had I let it come to this? Oh, my sons…_

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Back then though, the petty squabbles were soon rectified, more often than not by the two of them engaging in a ludicrous practical joke attack on hapless members of staff. More than once my presence was requested in the kitchens, or the orchards, or the stables, or the dairy, and once, even Hiemdal's observatory, to listen to the complaints of disgruntled servants over the escapades of the young princes. More often than not, they would be present too, having been caught in the act, grinning guiltily, somewhat proud of the chaos they had created. I would often catch Loki's eye as the victims of their schemes grumbled afterwards, taking a small measure of pleasure in the cheeky glint in his eyes.

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"_We were brothers together; we were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Surely you remember that?" My youngest boy, so broken, so hurt. You do remember, don't you? But you cannot let yourself do so…_

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Sadly, all too soon they began to grow apart, their desires and talents leading them down very different paths. Thor became somewhat of a carouser, drinking, fighting and wooing his way through the city. For a short while, Loki attempted to emulate him, joining him on wild nights out in the city, but it was here that he began to be exposed to an almost subconscious form of segregation. He would return in the morning stone-cold sober, bitter from the rejections of shallow women who only saw his differences and not his uniqueness, and usually battered and bloody from rescuing Thor from a hopeless fight. The resentment took root easily, when the next day in the banqueting hall Thor would proclaim his prowess, including the Warriors Three and even the Lady Sif in the tale, but completely disregarding Loki's efforts and contributions.

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"_Some do battle, others only do tricks." My heart aches for the pain this jibe causes. How can you not see, Thor? How can you not see that you are pushing away the one who should be dearest to you? That you are pushing away the one who is your greatest ally? Are you so blinded by your Father's mentality that you cannot see that?_

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I should have spotted the beginnings of the rift, I should have picked up on the messages Loki was sending every time he left the hall cloaked in invisibility, leaving behind a projection to take the force of his brother's mocking jibes. Thor was not cruel, he was merely thoughtless, arrogant and favoured.

The Allfather's obvious favouritism I should too have noticed. Actually, that is not true; I did notice it, I just did not do anything about it. Too often I stayed silent when I should have reminded Odin to spare a few encouraging words for his youngest son, to try and praise him for deeds well done. But I did not; I did not see how bad the situation was until it was far too late.

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"_I could have done it, Father! I could have done it…for you! For all of us." A pause filled with breathless hope that maybe he will see that maybe he will understand… "No, Loki."_

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The last I saw of Loki was as he attacked his own brother, sending him through the wall with a blast of energy from the sceptre in his hands; the same sceptre he had taken with such wariness only as few days earlier. The expression on his face was one I had never seen before. It was hard and cruel with a bitter mocking edge to it that made my heart break. Where had my son gone? Where was the teasing intelligent boy who had taken such pains to try and please his father, who had spent hours practising art of transfiguring objects into flowers as a gift for me on one of my name days? Who was this broken stranger filled with such anger who was willing to destroy an entire race simply to hide the truth of his past from himself?

"Loki, my son, please…" I begged, but he brushed past me without a word, his posture stiff, his mind closed to the gently searching tendrils I sent out.

I knew the exact moment he fell from Asgard, a burning pain erupting in my chest as if a dagger and been plunged beneath my ribs. My son had fallen, my son had gone. I had lost my son.

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_The cold darkness of oblivion, the vast uncertainty of eternity surrounds you. You scream…and scream…and scream…wishing that someone could heard you, that someone had heard you every time you called out before. But as always…no one hears and no one comes._

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The next time I saw him, he was a changed man, so changed I barely recognised my son, so disfigured was he by the bitterness, the madness, the anger, and the arrogance.

"Have I made you proud?" he asked, coolly mocking, but his eyes betrayed him, as they always had to me.

"Try not to make this any worse," I warned him, knowing that his helpless longing for Odin's approval was long gone, that it had morphed into something ugly, something that would not doubt cause hurt to everyone, including himself.

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"_Do you regret it? Giving him you magic?" Thor seems so empty lately, and I fear that it is not just from the weariness of battle. He misses his brother; his best friend and fiercest fighting companion. "No. You and your father cast long shadows. By teaching Loki my gifts I had hoped he could find some sun for himself." For the moon needs the sun, no matter how soundly they both deny it._

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When I visited Loki in his solitary prison I found the true measure of the fractured, desperately lonely man that my son had become. I saw the genuine pain in his face as he denounced me as his mother, a flash of regret, for what I do not know, giving me hope that he would find his way back to us someday, just as Thor had that first time.

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"_Was that her last expression? Trust? As you let her die?" Oh, my Loki. There is so much pain inside of you, so much guilt. "And what good were you in your cell?" Do not blame him, Thor, blame me. Blame my reckless nature, blame my failure as parent, but do not blame him. You need each other. _

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That hope stays with me even now as I feel my life force pulling away from me, piece by piece, like the gently retreating waves upon the shore of the sea. I pray that Thor and Loki will find each other again, for they are brothers despite not sharing the same blood, and they will need each other in this dark time. As the sun is to the moon, so they are, co-dependent on one another yet never seeing the world in the same light except for the briefest of moments at twilight. I pray that the twilight my passing creates will bring them together once more. Not as sons of Odin, or as Asgardians, but as my sun and my moon. As my sons.

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**A/N Please review!**


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